Follow Me
by TerRaine and Sloth
Summary: Before the Titans...Before Nearson...she was alone.     Until she followed him...   A Legendverse Endgame Prequel story


**Follow Me**

_Co-Authored by TerRaine & Slothsoul_

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The nameless city was bustling and busy. The usual for midday, perhaps just after lunch. People were running this way and that, lost in wherever it was they needed to be and whatever it was they needed to do. They did not seem to care or notice one another, too wrapped up in their own lives, plans, and thoughts to bother with those in the shifting sea of people that was the street.

Amongst the throngs...she stuck out—paradoxically, as, being so small, one would think she would not. The slight girl moved through the chaotic tides with as little care as they deemed fit to display her. Even when a lock of blond hair fell over her glasses and obstructed the view, she didn't react. Not as far as any nonexistent observer could tell, given the carefully blank expression on her thin face.

The crowd stopped on the corner of a block, gathering and remaining impatiently oblivious to the young girl… even as she stepped off the curb, continuing her stride with mismatched eyes distant and deep in thought.

No one so much as blinked in her direction: She was not their problem. They had their own already.

A screech of tires and the blaring of horns followed on cue, snapping the girl out of her fugue. She looked up just in time to see the car and feel a steel-grip clamp down onto her forearm.

One second later found her back by the curb, thrown roughly into the people, with cries of protest and the fading car horn cursing out at her as it drove by. The group of people pushed her back just as roughly, sending her toppling forward with their own choice words for her "actions." But none of them mattered: Her eyes were alert, her senses tense, but not for them… instead, they were for the large man donning military garb glaring balefully at her.

In an instant, the lights of the day shifted, the sounds dimmed, and the people slowed… and then it was over. The towering man had disappeared into the crowd. She was not able to suppress her cringe before he left.

The light turned green.

People walked around her, seemingly unaware of what had just happened before them. The few that noticed the girl sitting in the gutter only took enough time to sneer or spit an insult out at her before continuing. The girl again did not pay any notice, opting to sit on the curb quietly and not move...nursing the bruised arm and oblivious to the rest around her. Her odd eyes did not reveal any hidden pain as she looked ahead… they did not hold back tears or beg for comfort, or even seem to want it... not dead… yet neither dull nor sharp. Just...barely there.

Slowly, with the movements of one who is either much older than she appears or nursing some still tender wounds, she stood. By now the light had changed again, so she found herself waiting. When traffic did finally halt, the people who had once again gathered behind her rushed to cross, pushing her forward. Unprepared despite everything, her foot caught on sewer grate and she was carelessly knocked over the curb and nearly into a café front as the pedestrians passed by.

One could only assume the blond teen to be expecting the dull pain of her person colliding with the store window. Instead, she bumped into someone—and immediately felt the warmth of a hand grasping her shoulder with unexpected gentleness, steadying her. Her face skewered up in a small flinch, looking up to the oncoming insult, pulling herself away from the warm gentleness.

The oddest golden eyes greeted her. Not because of the unusual color, but because they just were... gentle and content. Despite the fact that the man with such eyes did not give any indication that he recognized her, his demeanor was still friendly and relaxed as he studied her past his black-and-gold hair. The insult never came.

...though that may be due to the straw on his lips.

"...s-sorry" she mumbled when she finally remembered to, head tilting slightly to the side.

The boy, much taller than her, mimicked the movement – she could see the quiet smile on him when he did this. He did not seem to be sucking on the straw either.

After a few beats, the straw fell from his lips as he started talking: "Smoothie?" he offered, thrusting the drink towards her.

Her eyes widened a bit at that before crossing slightly to look at the straw.

"...I...um...no thank you?" she stammered, rubbing her forearm tenderly while eyeing the strange boy with cautious, untrusting eyes.

"Is it because we're strangers?" he asked gingerly, his eyes flickering towards her arm for a fraction of a second, "Cause of that whole 'never take things from strangers' thing? You know, I have to have some words with whoever came up with that. What, so if I'm about to drown and a person I don't know offers me a boat, am I going to refuse it? I don't think that's sound advice. Way to go parents, you saved your children from listening to the police. Or basic common sense. …Oh and pedophiles. I guess that's good."

The small teenager blinked up at him as he rambled, eyes following an invisible trail from his black nails, to the golden eyes, and finally to the gold streaks in his hair with muted curiosity. She did not have long to do so as his rant died off quickly enough—a very rare thing, as she would soon find out. The boy with the streaked hair was left just smiling at the odd girl he bumped into by chance, before – in a slow, deliberate movement – he reached out and put his smoothie on top of her head. It balanced perfectly on its new perch so as to not fall.

Hands free, he was able to take advantage of her confusion, grasping onto her wrist. He handled the limb with a gentleness that – judging by the widening of her eyes and the slight flinch to her frame at his touch – she seemed surprised by. It did not take much to assume her not be one who was used to tender touches. But he made no comment and gave no reaction to this as he turned the arm in his hand, looking at her bruise critically.

Unfortunately, it only took a few moments for her to recover and yank her hand back, stepping away. Her sudden movement upset the smoothie and made it topple from the top of her head... straight into the stranger's clawed fingers, perhaps having expected that reaction.

With her wrist cradled against herself gingerly, her bi-colored eyes narrowed on him distrustfully, "Back off, demon."

"...Half," he noted, unbothered by her hostile attitude. "Why do people always forget the half? I like the half – makes it sound cooler. Or demi. Demi works too actually. D2. Demi-demon...Or Daredevil...He's not the kind to sue, so I should be ok," he mused aloud, looking to the sky in thought. "...assuming I want to risk that again."

And then his gaze was back upon her with a smile, "Why?"

"...I...well..." the glare fell from her eyes as she stammered, replaced instead with thoughtful confusion and a tilt of her head, "Um...m'not sure..."

He chuckled at her hastily thrown-together response, though it did not seem to be in taunting or mocking—which only furthered her confusion given how well she had learned to tell the difference over her years.

"Well, until you can think of a reason..." he sighed amusedly and moved closer. It was not a sudden move, nor without warning, simply taking two steps closer without a second thought, "it's ok to just stand together, right? Sides, someone needs to tend to your arm."

With a small frown, she yanked her sleeve downwards a touch, muttering quietly, "S'fine."

Instantly, her discomfort became far more obvious, unsure of what to make—and how to feel—about his invasion of her personal space. Yet with her movements anxious as they were…she was not pulling away.

"You were cradling it," he pointed out, his tone then growing softer, "so it hurts. You shouldn't have to hide it."

She winced, her eyes grimacing shut as if struck by a sudden sharp pain. As soon as it started, though, it seemed to fade, eyes reopening, brushing the hand away and shrugging into a stance of forced nonchalance, "Not your problem...no worries."

Her hands dropped to her side carelessly with a slight sway. Now, she merely stood...staring at him awkwardly as if not knowing what it was she was now expected to do.

"Um...b-bye I guess," she said quietly, dropping her eyes. With a quick turn, she was off again, slipping unnoticed into the crowds.

The young man watched her disappear, gold eyes quiet. For a few moments, it seemed like he had no intention of moving…Ever.

"Hmm," he whispered before reaching out a hand to stop a child passerby. The small boy looked up at him in quiet confusion. "Here, hold this," he explained, giving him his smoothie, before sinking into the sea of people himself, "I'm intrigued."

* * *

For several blocks the blond teen found herself alone. It was unclear whether she had been checking or not, but if she had there would not be a sign of anyone following her. Slowly, there was a quiet of affirmation that she had indeed lost the strange demo – half-demon.

_...And that's good, right?_ She thought unsurely before she could stop herself.

With a small sigh of relief, the nameless girl lifted her head to watch the street pass her by with that same muted, dull interest from earlier, already fading into apathy. Every so often, the muscle under her eye would tick making her twitch...she seemed largely unaware of it.

"...My momma once told me," a voice above her said softly. "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get. For some reason, mom looked very Sally Fieldish that day. And I was wearing metal on my legs...In fact, I had an Alabaman accent."

She stumbled sideways at the sudden voice, falling into the side of the building she was walking past even as her eyes darted up.

The half-demon sat on the roof.

"...You know, I'm starting to think my mom wasn't Sally Field," he observed as she continued to gape soundlessly up at him. "But!" he continued, lazily sliding down next to her with that same soft smile from earlier. "It still was a good line. You never do know what you're getting in life. Especially in my case.

"For example, I got you," his smile widened just in the slightest, "And I wanna help," the manic grin took a softer, more subdued tone when he saw the incredulous look at his declaration prompted, "I'm good at dealing with things that aren't my problem," he adds in soft promise.

"I don't need help," was her flat and dry response.

"You need fun. Your eyes are sad," he stood up from his crouch to look into said eyes, "…hurt," he added, causing her to tense. It was not difficult to realize this strange demi-demon was talking about more than just her bruised arm.

"...so are yours," she shot back at him, perhaps a bit more harshly than she may have intended, "Why do you even care?"

"...So are mine," he nodded in agreement, acknowledging her near accusation. A few moments passed, where it became obvious he wasn't going to address her question. Instead, a black-nailed hand reached out to brush that stray lock of hair from earlier away from her forehead. She flinched at the near touch once more as his fingers lingered, halting their actions. The lock of hair remained untouched.

They remained there, just hovering above the surface and making the movements of caressing her gently, never actually touching her: his fingers always millimeters away from her flesh.

Her eyes widened at the not-quite-caress and she shied away just slightly... it was now clear—to him and to anyone watching—she was afraid of the touch. He smiled though, and while he did not pull away… he did not move closer either.

"...I don't have time for games," she responded quietly. Her voice had become dull...no heat left in her.

"...I care, cause you're sad," he explained, a simple enough concept. "And I wanna help change that. That's all I really need. That's usually what it always comes down to with me. …Oh, I'm also curious as to what your smile looks like," he admitted, grinning widely. "And besides… We should always work on games. They keep us grounded."

The corner of her mouth twitched...not in an attempt at a smile though.

He met that flinch with the same light eyes, "You're scared," he noted in a whisper.

After a moment of quiet, she asked honestly her eyes growing curious, "...why shouldn't I be? Why should I trust you?"

"Why should you be?" he countered, "A random stranger you bump into in the street offers you smoothies, and once you move away, he follows you and starts psychoanalysis you while not quite touching you," he smiled cheerfully. "You have no idea how many adventures start just like that!

"As for trusting me? I guess you can, if you want," he shrugged, still smiling. "I never said you should though. That's something you decide on your own as you get to know someone. Do you want to trust me?"

"...I dun' know," she answered, the questions catching her off guard, her eye widening in confusion as she stuttered, "...I...I just..."

He returned her bewildered sputtering with a kind look. And this time, careful fingers gently pushed that lock of hair upwards and out of the way. Afterwards, his hand came to rest upon her head, petting her fondly.

"Baby steps," he assured. "You can figure it out as you go along…But personally, I like you," and then he gave her the best smile he had, "I want you to be my friend."

She flinched a bit at the touch, steeling herself to not pull away as if burnt, "Friend?"

Without reaction to her flinch, he continued to pet her gently and take a step closer. Clearly, he hoped to ease out some tension out of her cause by his proximity. With a soft nod, he agreed, "My friend."

For the longest time – perhaps even a full minute, which in moments like these can go on for hours – she stared back up at him in silence. It might have even seemed to the young man that she would never answer, just continue to gaze at him thoughtfully before he finally gave up and walked away. Away from those tired...bruised...distrustful eyes.

And then, almost too softly to hear, "...o-o…kay."

His eyes, which by all right might have been just as tired and bruised, lit up happily at the girl, almost to the point where she could not help but have wondered if she imagined it the ache.

"Can I see your arm now?" he asked, hoping to get a little further this time. What he earned in return for the query was a small smirk that quirked up on her face.

"Why?" she almost quipped.

"Because of reasons that involve silly things like friendship and wanting to see if you're alright," and now he was smirking back at her, eyes dancing. They seemed to brighten even further when she lifted her arm, allowing the sleeve of her shirt to fall down towards her elbow. What was revealed was pale smooth skin...completely unmarred or blemished. Had he not seen the bruising with his own eyes, he might not have ever known it had been there.

His eyebrows went up as he smiled, a finger tracing along her skin gently, "Heh. That'll be convenient while adventuring."

Before she could so much as blink, he was grabbing her hand gently but firmly, eyes locked with her own an excited grin on his face, "Speaking of! First thing on the agenda! Let's go get my smoothie back!"

"...we...we could just buy a new one," she pointed out quietly as she followed, with a trace of obedience to her step, "It ...won't be melted then."

He shook his head in response, "Hmm... but what of my trusty kid friend who's faithfully waiting for my return, smoothie in hand? I don't want him to stick around when I'll never go back."

The walk back took barely more than a few minutes. The kid... was gone. The smoothie empty and in the trash can.

Not quite as trusty as all that it appeared.

"...Meh, them's the break I suppose," he smiled, and then squeezed her hand, "Let's go buy ourselves some. I'm sure the author will write it out and not be a lazy, lazy shrew with some sort of 'several minutes later,' line after all!"

"Um…what?" the girl asked in confusion.

Several minutes later and Metatron can deal with it cause no one wants to hear about him handing money to a cashier, the odd duo found themselves strolling out onto the street again, smoothies in hand. He continued to jabber on as the small girl just listened.

"Because," he smiled, not handing over her drink but instead bending the straw to her lips, "Even with all the responsibilities, and the madness and chores and whatever else you need to do...There's no point if you don't stop to smell the roses. Or fight the occasional giant robot."

Her only answer was to nod and sip. For once, just enjoying the company. They both came to a stop and, leaning against the wall of the café, sat down. Neither seemed to care of the dirt and how it may have looked to do so. It was then that it occurred to the young woman that she still did not know this random guy's name nor him hers.

"...I can't keep calling you demon," she pointed out.

"You can't?" he asked, tilting his head – reasonably so, perhaps, "What's stopping you?"

"I don't want to," she corrected herself with another sip.

"Ah. Ok," he nodded, "Well in that case…I'm Adam. Though they call me Metatron…or just Met. In fact, they call me Met more than anything else. I don't know why. I call me Met too. I have a general idea why."

"…Why?" she asked curiously, seeming to ignore his babbling entirely.

He grinned at her and her question, "Cause other people call me that. It makes everything very convenient, that way."

This answer seemed to placate her curiosity as she continued to nod and sip the slowly emptying beverage, "Which would you like me to call you then?

He shrugged leaning leisurely back against the building with a stretch and that ever present smile, "Meh. Up to you. Surprise me."

"...Met isn't a name," she said conversationally, not noticing or caring that some might have found this and insulting thing to say, "Adam is."

"You know, people constantly tell me that," Adam or Metatron responded conversationally, lying flat on his back and looking up at her. He rested his head against her thigh, "Usually I don't tell them my name, and then they don't have a choice,"

Her eyes widened at the sudden forward contact...but she did not quite pull away from allowing it, "I could just call you both?"

"I like it. Keeps me on my toes," he grinned, "In turn, I shall call you many things. Like Sassypatches. Or Sharona. ...Shamona? Why so many 'S's? The other letters aren't talking to me much after that mess where I accidentally made a whole world illiterate," then he paused as if in realization, "Oh wait. Yay, we made up."

It was not long before he continued, fingers reaching up to touch her glasses gently, "...Billy Jean?"

"...you're very weird" she observed pulling away from the hand slightly, though not losing the small smile on her face. Metatron beamed at her...and it was the first time she had ever seen anything so calm, relaxed and honestly content, with no clouds or malice in his expression.

"I like your glasses," he replied.

"...Thank you" she answered a touch more quietly and subdued. Her smile tried to grow a bit more, though it ended coming off a bit more unsure than it had been before. Next to her lap, he tilted his head, his smile quieting down, into a softer one.

"You don't smile often," he noted, in slight amusement, also noting her silent shrug as an answer. She looked away then...watching the street and sipping her drink in silence. It was a poor attempt at avoiding having to answer him. Adam continued to look up at her anyway, before he trailed his finger down and brushed it along her face in a gentle, almost ticklish gesture. Again, she flinched a bit, and attempted to pull away from his hand.

"The muscles you use for smiling," he mused, letting his arm fall onto his belly and relaxing, looking pretty harmless, "They are stiff from lack of use."

He smiled softly, "Yet a smile is such a good look on you. I'm going to make it so it happens more often."

She looked back down at him upon this decided declaration and answered in a voice barely above a whisper, "...okay."

Instantly, Metatron could see that she looked far from convinced as she fidgeted next to him...he was not able to tell whether it was due to nerves or not. From disbelief or just anxiousness. He relaxed, closing his eyes and sipping. "When I make you laugh, a full blown, tearing laugh, you have to give me a reward."

"...heh..." it was a humorless little sound and then she was asking, in a weary tone that stated she already knew the answer, that she had been waiting for something like this… and that she had been stupid to think otherwise, "What did you want?"

A small mock pout formed on the demi-demon's face, "...Wait, I have to choose? Bah. Now I won't be surprised... hmmmm... How about your name?"

Her eyes widened a bit at that, her face showing her surprise at this request, "...You want my name...if you make me laugh?"

"Yeah! It'll be more fun that way. Then it's a game, see?" he smiled up at her and poked her nose.

She raised an eyebrow at this, eyes crossing slightly as they followed his finger, "And if you don't? You jus'...never know my name?"

A teasing light glittered in his eyes as that poking finger instead returned to petting the top of her head, "I guess you"ll just have to be Sugarlips forever. There are worse names. Like Butterbottom…actually…hey, I like that. You're now Butterbottom."

It was all he could do to not laugh at the ill amused expression that had come over her face in the past minute or so. He sighed, smiling and sitting up slowly, happy that she was relaxing a bit, "Well, I suppose they can't all be the best names ever."

Suddenly, his head tilted just slightly before he turned to look to the side. He was still petting the girl gently, his expression and actions matching those of someone who had heard something. An excited little spark leaked into his smile, "Huh. I'm going to be going soon."

"...going?" she asked.

He nodded in answer to her question, "I leave, from time to time. Go to other places. It's cause I have chaos in me, and it's a fickle mistress. Sometimes, it happens without warning. Others, I can feel it coming.

"...I feel it coming," that almost mischievous grin was now turned towards her.

There was a look of something that could be disappointment on her face at this admission. She shifted away a bit, forcing him to stop in his gentle petting as she whispered, "Oh...okay."

He watched her…watched how the words affected her, and how she shrank into herself at them. A frown crossed his features, before becoming that soft gentle smile once more, "...Come with me."

Her eyes widened at the invitation...something akin to excitement glittering in them and overpowering that disappointment. It was not long lived, however, as it soon dulled down once more "...I...I can't. He'd be angry..."

He took her hand, gently, his thumb caressing it, "Whoever this 'he' is, he's kind of an arsehole, then."

A frown appeared on her own face now as she shook her head in denial at that. There was something almost childlike to the gestures and Met could not help but chuckle at it, "You... need fun. You have something to do. I can see it. You have the whole 'big quest' look in you eyes..."

She stared back, mouth opening and shutting silently, jaw bobbling in a manner akin to a fish in a bowl. Behind her glasses, eyes glittered feverishly, torn between this offer and some silent untold duty that had been so clearly laced with fear. All around them in the quiet the wind had begun to kick up debris and dust, lifting it into the air in a whirl around them both. Her hair whipped about her face…just like his. She should not do this. She COULD not do this.

He smiled down at her and she gripped his hand.

And then, in a roar of wind…a crackle of air that had begun to taste electric…her world ended and began.

"…okay…"

The world around them flashed and screamed, all senses lost in the the roar of a universe whose laws were pushed aside by the very nature of her companion's existence.

But beneath and above it all... There was warmth. Unextinguishable fire.

And she clung to it without a second thought, her arms wrapping around it, her self wanting to SINK into it.

And it wrapped around her, gently, softly. Protectively.

Her warmth chuckled. It was good.

"This"-the voice whispered softly, somehow heard without strain under the gales of wind... and somewhere in the back of her mind she realized her feet were no longer touching the ground-"can only lead to good things."

The wind died.

The street was empty.

They were off.


End file.
